Search

Due to the power of the beautiful Facebook, I do know little snippets of what you are up to. First, since I moved, you have become the biggest man-whore EVER. I thought you should know, and I feel the need to address this because me, you know, Ms. Goody Two Shoes, is incredibly uncomfortable with it. Just kidding. But seriously, EVERY new profile picture of yours is with another beautiful girl, which, of course, does not surprise me by any means, but it’s funny how quickly things change. We went from breaking into the church playground (and the church itself, might I add) to you being a slutface and me being a, uh, not-so goody goody. I do remember, when we were much younger, swimming in the pool with Jesse, prior to his attempt at kissing me (yeah, uh, about that… you know now… after about 7 years. lolz). Also, our constant little schemes or attempts at being little badasses, like the aforementioned church breaking-in. Or when we would sit up on the red steel staircase, hidden from my house and yours, right above the road below, where you, Jesse and I would talk, or eat ice cream during the summer, or, after Jesse ran away (tail between his legs, might I add), you and I shouting “DON’T MOAN, CALL JOAN!” at cars.
Or one day, walking home from the bus stop, when you threw a CD at a passing car, and it hit a van, where we immediately broke into a run, like bandits, even though nothing was going to happen. Christ, you were around for EVERYTHING. You were more present in my life than my own brother. Hell, you are my brother, or at least you used to be. It sucks that after growing up together our entire lives, we lose contact because of three measly hours between us. I’m not saying this bother me like hell, but it does. I do indeed miss you, and maybe when I come to Connecticut this summer, we’ll go to Lake Compounce and cause some trouble… because isn’t that what we do now? 😉

I would like to take this time to address the fact that you are my favorite ex-husband and number one sassy gay friend. I would also like to address that you are my go-to person for advice, a shoulder to cry on, or someone to bitch with/at. You tolerate my incessant whining and my inability to stay on topic or tell an abridged version of a story, and you always seem to have the right thing to say at the right time. To be completely honest, I have never had anyone like that in my life before; my best friend has always been to invested in her own life and her own problems, my other friends were never close enough to help me out, nor did I want them to be, and… well, you know how my relationships with guys work out.
Another thing, without you, my direct messages inbox/outbox on Twitter would be mostly empty/ no where NEAR as exciting as it is now. Our little conversations about some crazy girls and some asshole guys or some weirdly short coworkers or… you know. We talk about lots. People are so jealous we are so freakin AWESOME, not to mention they wish they could have conversations as awesome and intellectually stimulating as ours (that sounded intelligent, right?). I REALLY hope that when I go to Ohio in a few weeks (date pending) that we will be able to hang out, because that will, of course, be almost too awesome (not to mention HOT) to handle.

As strange as it is that I’m writing this letter to you, I feel it is necessary. I don’t miss you per-say, but who you were last summer. I know we were never really friends, we didn’t run in the same “clique” on the kitchen staff last year. We still aren’t really friends, and I haven’t seen you in a week or so. No one else seems to notice your absence, but for some reason I do. Last summer, you were always laughing or joking or hitting on Deb, who I also miss. But this year you’ve changed and everyone is speculating different things. All ranging from drugs, to family problems to school problems, and so on. It’s obvious you’re depressed, and you isolate yourself so much it’s hard to tell what’s wrong, which is clearly what you want. I seem to be the only one (but maybe I’m just self-centered and recognize only myself in this situation) to be making an effort to talk to you. Obviously, my approach is to annoy you and attempt to bitch-slap you out of your depression, at least for the 8 hours a day we see each other, but still. But now I’m nervous… maybe it’s just my incredible paranoia or maybe it’s just psycho-girl theories, but I hope you haven’t done anything. Because, even though all we are is co-workers, not even friends, I would miss you terribly.

Back in eighth grade, we used to be pretty close. Then in ninth grade even, when I was depressed and it was…. bad. You were the only one there for me. You were the only one that tried to help me. Kerri was just mad at me, but you were genuinely concerned. You texted me almost daily, just to make sure I was alright. You were always there for advice and were always one of my best friends. Then you dated Kerri, and you and I sort of started to hated each other because of how I freaked out because of how you hurt her. Then we sort of became friends again, but we weren’t as close. You started dating Jordan and you just… drifted. These past few months, what with you being arrested and the prescription pills and Rick bullshit, I felt like you could use a friend. I wanted to call you, or stop by, but I knew I couldn’t because we has just drifted so far apart that we can’t really be moved back together. I’m sorry this happened, but it did, and I guess that we have both accepted this.

Now, if I was given this prompt five months ago, it would have been to my friend Shelby. But, due to the amazing span of Facebook and several years of time to grow up and get over things, I no longer feel the need to wish for her forgiveness, considering I already have it. But this letter is to anyone I have hurt and not apologized for it. This letter is to anyone who I will do that to in the future, or anyone I will want forgiveness from in the future. I do stupid shit a lot- I know. I don’t think enough, I sometimes don’t care what I’m saying and I suck. And to anyone in the future, you will know that I am a shit friend if I try to give this to you to earn forgiveness instead of just trying on my own. But, if I bother apologizing to anyone, which I do a lot but rarely ever mean, then you know I really want your forgiveness. But still… I know I suck. And so does this letter.

Weird that you are also my “best friend”, huh? Let’s start with the little stuff, shall we? Ninth grade: Started out well, but just progressed… badly. You always created an air of constant judgement, blatant ridiculing and just downright bitchiness. All the time we talked about you, your problems (granted, you have a lot of them, but still), and if I tried to talk about my problems or what was wrong with me, you’d just undermine what hurt me or what bothered me. Whenever something was important to me, you’d blow it off and be uninterested and bored. You still do this stuff, but now some things are different. All you have is your boyfriend/husband, and I have more friends. I mean, now I’m your only female friend, really, and I could care less whether or not we stay friends. I honestly have more friends that treat me a hell of a lot better. Ones that don’t point out the only reason a guy would like me is because I’m “easy”. Ones that don’t undermine everything I do, ones that aren’t completely focused on themselves… BETTER friends. And, so what if I met some of them online? They treat me better than you ever have, so I guess the internet isn’t such a bad place. And honestly? Are you 12? The random fight you started last night, probably because you were drunk or high, was completely pointless and nonsensical. I didn’t replace you, Allie is not my “new best friend”, although she is one of them. And seriously? Grow. Up. “Replace you” and “new best friend”? I thought that drama died out in 6th grade, but obviously some people still have it in them. Call me a bitch, or whatever, I don’t want to deal with it. Keep fucking around, and my consistent forgiveness might not be so consistent.

Caitlyn

***this letter is very scatterbrained and mostly stream-of-consciousness. Sorry if it’s confusing or whatever.

You don’t know me, but I’m your son Stan’s daughter, Caitlyn Elizabeth. I’m fifteen, I love reading and writing and music and movies and… bunches of things. What’s weird is that I am constantly learning that we have a lot of things in common. Like, when I was younger I loved theater and always wanted to get involved, but never had the guts to. Then I learned you were a tap dancer in Vaudeville. When I was looking for colleges, I randomly picked the majority of my top choices in Ohio, for absolutely no reason, and one of them happened to be your alma mater, Wittenberg. Then, when I began to rethink writing, I decided on advertising and marketing, not knowing that you did the same thing. I mean, you were 2nd in command for advertising for The New York Times, and then a vice-president at some advertising firm, with a huge corner office on the 40th floor of a building on Madison Ave. You (and after you died, grandma) received a Christmas card from the publisher of The New York Times. (!) Even though I never met you, or knew you, I look up to you. I wish we could have met, or talked, or… something. But this will have to do.